


Red

by Tinevisce



Series: V.I.B.G.Y.O.R [1]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23438812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinevisce/pseuds/Tinevisce
Summary: He had seen fishermen in Delhi grab live fish from buckets and start to scrape and gut the hapless creatures while they still gasped, and Aman thought he recognised what that kind of pain would feel like when his father brought the lathi down hard on Kartik’s back; along what Aman knew were old fault-lines
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Series: V.I.B.G.Y.O.R [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686157
Comments: 27
Kudos: 49





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> While I loved the film and our boys, and I completely understand why the tonality of the film had to be the way it was: I did think, as a gay man from India, that Kartik's past and Shankar's assault on him was..well, handled far less seriously than it should have been. Here's my take on how that scene would have played out had this not been a film forced to be a dramedy. I hope you like it; it's my first work ever on Ao3.

**RED**

_Mere liye tum kaafi ho_ Kartik was fond of telling him; whispering it into his ear at night, proclaiming it dramatically when the mood struck him, even sneaking it into the songs he wrote. You’re enough, you’re sufficient, I’d be content with just you.

And that- that was the fundamental difference between how they saw each other, what they _were_ for each other. He knew, just _knew,_ that Kartik would eventually survive his loss if that’s what it came down to. He would be broken, devastated and maybe barely functional for a long time: but he would eventually climb out the other end of the tunnel. Why would he not? Kartik was a blazing star, a glorious explosion of fire and heat: and stars may mourn the planets that used to orbit them but are never extinguished by the loss. Kartik’s light was like that, a blinding supernova stemming from a core deep inside him which neither grief nor pain nor fear had ever been able to diminish.

But Aman? _Jab door hota hu usse, ek ajeeb si_ stress _hone lagti hain_ he had admitted to his parents the other evening; had deliberately chosen the English word for its blandness. Stress, indeed. The kind of stress that made you gasp for air, made you feel like a fish out of water desperately trying to live in a fundamentally changed world. He had seen fishermen in Delhi grab live fish from buckets and start to scrape and gut the hapless creatures while they still gasped, and Aman thought he recognised what that kind of pain would feel like when his father brought the _lathi_ down hard on Kartik’s back; along what Aman knew were old fault-lines.

He was vaguely aware of violently wrenching himself away from someone’s (his mother’s?) grasp and the next thing he knew he was pressed up against Kartik facing his father. A heartbeat as time sped back up to its usual pace and the next blow meant for his lover connected squarely with his temple, the force of it knocking him back several steps and making Kartik stagger too.

“AMAN!”

That was his mother and Kartik screaming his name. His father had dropped the _lathi_ in shock and made to rush to his side.

“ _No_!” Aman surprised even himself with the vehemence in his voice and stopped Shankar Tripathi in his tracks. The dull dread and anxiety of the past few days was twisting and roiling into something darker inside him and when he finally registered the look of abject horror on his father’s face, his heart exploded into rage that shocked him with its primal savagery.

He shrugged off Kartik who had instinctively wrapped his arms around him to steady his unsteady gait. “ _Now_ you’re horrified?”

There was something wet and sluggish trickling down his face; the realisation it was his blood seemed to egg him on more. “ _Now_ you decide to drop that lathi? Why? Is it because it’s _your_ blood that’s been shed now?”

He raised his eyes to the rest of his family gathered in the courtyard and his fury almost choked him, so incandescent that he could barely form the words. “Have you no shame left? You tried to hold _me_ back, rein _me_ in and not _one_ of you tried to stop Papa?

“IS THIS A _TAMAASHAA_ FOR ALL OF YOU? Presenting a Tripathi Family Production, Let’s Beat Up the _Chakka,”_ Aman was yelling now, all self-control completely lost, “Fifty points for breaking the _chakka’s_ arms, sixty for crippling him, and a hundred for BASHING HIS HEAD IN!”

He marched back to a mute Kartik who seemed to have been struck dumb, never having seen Aman fly completely off the handle like this. He gripped Kartik’s bicep and bodily dragged him to his gathered family.

“ _Shirtless ghoomna hain na tujhe_ ,” he told him, spitting the words out, “why don’t you be out and _proud_ about it”

**_You want to roam around shirtless, don’t you?_ **

He ripped Kartik’s cape off and forced him to turn, exposing his bare back to the gaggle of people gathered in the courtyard. A fresh, angry welt had already blossomed where Shankar Tripathi’s blow had landed; but criss-crossing across the tanned back were older scars that were almost pearlescent in the dappled sunlight.

“He was _fifteen_ when his father beat him senseless with an iron rod and left him for dead in a ditch; this is hardly his first time in your gameshow!

“If he stands for too long, his back hurts him so badly he can’t sleep through the night! His head injuries left him with chronic migraines so bad he can’t eat or sleep or even close his eyes in peace during a flare-up! You had _no right_ to-”

A corner of his mind was aware that Kartik _hated_ that chapter of his life being brought up at all, and for it to be dragged out like this without his consent must feel like a horrific violation. He turned and locked eyes with the man in question, tried to wipe away his tears because Kartik had begun to weep; deeply relieved that his touch hadn’t been rejected.

_I’m sorry, I’m so sorry._

His glance fell to the bloodstained _lathi_ on the gray cement and as he moved to pick it up, he saw Goggle hurry to place herself between him and the rest of the family. Good.

His cousin knew him best, the parts of him most people had no idea where even there. Aman’s heart was a black, wretched thing with a cruel streak a mile wide. It wasn’t like Kartik’s, which just seemed to slosh love around like an overflowing cup. Oh no, Aman had a tiny number of people he considered his own and wouldn’t think twice about destroying the rest of the world for. And if today Aman was re-drawing those battle lines to have the Tripathi’s end up on the _other_ side? Well.

He forced the _lathi_ back into his father’s hand who tried to drop it again straight away like it burned him, but Aman was having none of it. He crowded into Shankar Tripathi’s space and wrapped his hands around his father’s in an iron grip, refusing to let the _lathi_ fall.

There was an almost manic gleam in his eyes as he forced his father to take a step back. And another.

“Better you finish this off today, Papa; because _this_ is what our lives are. If you won’t bash both our heads in with this today, I’m sure somebody will oblige with an iron rod tomorrow. Or maybe a gun, the day after.

“In this country if fathers kill their own new-born daughters by feeding them crushed glass, what fucking hope do two gay men have? _Ulti aayi thi na aapko humein dekhke_? _Toh khatm kar dijiye humein. Koi hak nahi hai humara jeene ka!_ ”

**_Seeing us together made you vomit, right? So why don’t you finish us both; we have no right to live_ **

Shankar Tripathi had collapsed on the ground, weeping. “Please, _beta_ ”

“DON’T YOU DARE CRY! Where were these tears when you were attacking Kartik? ANSWER ME!

“At least Kartik’s father was a man of his principles; he was strong enough to try to stamp out what he believed was wrong, even if it meant killing his own son.

“ _Agar mujhpe haanth nahi uthenge aapke,_ Kartik _ko choone ki koshish bhi mat karna. Agar usey maarna hai, toh mera khoon pehle bahaana hoga”_

**_If you can’t raise your hand against me, don’t ever try to even touch Kartik. If you have to kill him, you'll have to shed my blood first_**

The adrenaline was finally wearing off now, the wound in his head aching dully in pace with his heart, a bone-deep weariness surging up to turn his legs to jelly. He swayed where he stood, and Kartik, his Sun, his Universe, the very center of his gravity; was at his side in an instant, urgently whispering. “You’re bleeding, please, stop. It’s all right, it’s over”

No, it wasn’t all right, and it was far from over. He would be paying for all this, he knew, over long tortured days and nights- but that was all right. He would take it all and a world of pain more, it couldn’t be worse than what would have happened to Kartik today.

“Please,” Aman said, and it was almost a gasp. “ _Mujhe ghar le chal_ ”

**_Take me home_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Red, for me, is the colour of violence and rage.


End file.
